


Circuit

by thingswithwings



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Break Up, Electricity, M/M, Painplay, Sensation Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-19
Updated: 2010-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-24 02:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-movie.  Watson finds a reason to go back to the flat on Baker Street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circuit

When Watson opens the door, Holmes is hovering over Gladstone with some metal contraption in his hand and a gleam in his eye. He pauses and looks up as Watson comes in.

"Oh, you're early," Holmes says, and advances a little further on the dog. On close inspection, the device he's holding seems to be the fork-shaped electric prong they discovered during their recent pursuit of Lord Blackwood and his minions. It glows an eerie blue in the dim, curtained sitting room.

"Much as I know you enjoy torturing my dog, it may be that passing electricity through his body will actually kill him," Watson says, eventually. Taking a moment to bolt the door behind him, he walks over and, against his better judgement, interposes his body between Holmes and the long-suffering bull-pup.

"Our dog, our dog, I think you'll find, Watson, and he certainly doesn't mind. I have it turned to the absolute lowest setting, see – " Quick as a snake, Holmes pokes the metal rod at him and connects its warm metal to the skin of Watson's throat. A hot shock passes through him, hot and painful at the point of contact but gone as quickly as it comes, rattling against his nerves like an amplified version of a static charge.

"Ow!" He clamps his hands down hard on Holmes' wrist, holding the device away from him. "What on earth do you think you are doing with that thing?"

"Oh, just an experiment, you know. I tried it on myself first, I assure you." Holmes spins quickly, breaking Watson's grip just enough to touch him again with the charged end of the thing. But he must not have shaken him off fully, for when Watson blinks away the shock he sees a similar dazed expression on Holmes' face.

"Shared that one, did we?"

"Yes, most interesting, I obviously neglected to consider the path of the current."

Watson takes a step backwards. "Exactly how much data do you plan to gather before you have concluded your experiments?"

Holmes shrugs, then strikes outward and grips Watson's hand in his; once they are skin to skin, he presses the device to his own neck. Another shuddering jolt passes between them. Holmes gasps for breath. "Not – not too much more, Watson, I assure you."

"Will you let go of me!" Once Watson has removed himself to the other side of the room, Holmes bends over and puts his hands on his knees, still holding the contraption in his hand. His stunned body lacks its usual allotment of grace, and in attempting to straighten up again, he gives himself another accidental jolt to the forehead.

"Gaaah," he says, and falls to the floor.

"Oh for God's sake," Watson mutters, and goes to him. "You're going to kill yourself with that thing."

"So nice to know you care," Holmes mutters. Watson pries the handle from his limp fingers and sets it on the floor just out of his reach. He considers for a long moment, then, sighing, bends down to take Holmes' pulse at the throat. The air stills between them.

"How am I, doctor?" Holmes asks. Watson can feel the rumble of his voice under his fingers.

"Your pulse rate is entirely too high for a normal human person," Watson says, snapping his watch closed. "But for you, I suppose it is acceptable."

"Capital."

"Though I can't speak for the long-term effects of repeated exposure to that device."

"Well, we shall just have to keep an eye on me over the next few weeks, and if I survive, we'll know it's fit for testing on Gladstone."

"Quite so." Kneeling up at Holmes' side, Watson reaches a hand down, and is strangely annoyed at the gratitude he feels when Holmes takes it without hesitation. He pulls Holmes up into a sitting position.

"You know, Watson," Holmes intones, increasing his grip on Watson's hand, "I must say I found the effects of that device decidedly . . . rousing."

Watson breathes, ignoring the content of the ridiculous statement, brought up short by its intent. "I thought we agreed that this would stop."

When Holmes speaks, his voice is scarcely above a whisper, but no less commanding for that. "You agreed, Watson, you agreed, I think you'll find. I agreed to nothing. And _we_ have seldom agreed on anything at all."

"Nevertheless, I – "

"Are you not interested in the potential medical applications of the device?" Holmes asks, suddenly, raising his voice again to a tone of collegial good-humour. "Perhaps turned down a little further, it could even have beneficial applications. You cannot deny that you feel, hm, energized, after our little session."

"I can hardly deny anything when it comes to you, it seems."

"Yes," Holmes says, and holds his gaze.

After a moment, Watson clears his throat and speaks again. "Turned down? I thought it was already on the absolute lowest setting."

"Well, I may have exaggerated. It could perhaps be lower."

"Indeed."

"Pass it to me?" There is pleading in Holmes' eyes, or else a perfect counterfeit of pleading. Watson used to think that it made a difference, whether it was real or feigned emotion that passed across his features, but he is no longer so certain of that. He picks the device up from where he placed it, and puts it into Holmes' hands. Holmes gives him only the barest suggestion of a smile, and fiddles with the knobs on the side.

"This, now, is truly the lowest setting," he says, and waits.

Watson, of his own volition, reaches out to touch the tip of his finger to the faintly glowing metal. The shock that passes through him is less painful, this time, more –

"Yes," he says. "That is better."

"Take off your shirt," Holmes commands. "That I may try it over your heart."

Slowly, Watson unbuttons his vest, slips his suspenders off his shoulders, removes his cufflinks one by one. Holmes watches him do it; Holmes has always liked to watch.

When he has his torso bare, he slides one hand down his belly and thumbs at the buttons of his trousers.

"Lie down," Holmes says, and Watson allows himself to fall back on the threadbare carpet. Holmes hovers above him, their earlier position reversed, and takes his pulse cursorily.

"A little slow for a person of any passion," he pronounces, "but for you I suppose it will have to do."

Watson says nothing, knowing that at this point his strongest move is not rising to the bait. He stares up at Holmes, patient.

Holmes presses one palm over Watson's breastbone. Then, slowly, he lowers the huge bulbous tip of the device to hover above Watson's mouth. Watson parts his lips slightly, and when Holmes touches the metal to them, the pain is rather greater than it had been a moment ago against his finger. He flinches involuntarily.

"Lovely," Holmes breathes. He must have felt it too, his palm in contact with Watson's chest when the shock came, but he betrays no sign of it now. "You may continue undressing, if you like."

"Thank you for your kind permission," Watson manages, but does not hesitate to open his trousers and take himself in hand.

"You're very welcome," Holmes replies. He slaps Watson's hand away from his hardening prick, then sets the electric prongs down carefully on the floor beside him.

Bending swiftly, Holmes takes him in his mouth and swallows him down, causing Watson's hips to arch up off the floor as if Holmes, too, were a kind of electric shock. With a grunt, Holmes wrestles him back down to the floor, holding him still while he sucks, rubs obscenely with his lips, laves with his tongue. Too soon, much too soon, he pulls off again.

"Lie still," he says. His breath is coming fast now, his voice hoarse.

"Goddamn it, Holmes, what in hell do you think – " struggling, Watson pushes up against Holmes' wiry strength.

"Shhhh," Holmes says, then frowns slightly. "Still. Be still."

Slowly, he allows himself to be pushed back down to the floor. His wet prick throbs, fully hard now, and Holmes in sympathy wraps one hand loosely around the base. Then, reaching up, he pulls off his cravat and bares his sternum.

"Let us try this first," he says, and picking up the electric device once more, presses it to his own throat.

The bolt goes through him like a bullet, bright and hot where it centres around his groin, pleasure and soft pain spilling out through his body like blood. He feels himself writhe against the carpet. The fabric burns against his back.

"And again," Holmes says, and this time touches the wand to Watson's chest directly, tightening the grip of his free hand simultaneously to offer just a moment of proper friction.

"Holmes," he finds himself saying, "please, I – "

Holmes gives him another shock, and another, strokes up and down once with his hand and then pauses, as if obeying some impossible rhythm that he alone can hear. Watson no longer knows if he wants it to finish or if he wants it to stop.

"Please, what?" Holmes asks politely. He's straddling one of Watson's legs, now, and though still fully clothed Watson can feel him pressing his own hardness to the big, flexing muscle of Watson's upper thigh.

"Please," Watson gasps, knowing that he will pay for this vulnerability later, "please, finish it."

"Oh," Holmes says softly, and he sounds surprised, even a little lost. "Oh," he says again, and starts to stroke in earnest now, flexing his clever fingers around Watson's prick, laying another shock against his chest, then two more in quick succession, speeding his hand up and shuddering himself as the electricity passes between them. Watson cries out and arches up into Holmes' hand, arches against the sharp heat of one last shock as his pleasure washes over him, and as his eyes close involuntarily he can see Holmes' features overwritten with a mask of sorrow.

When he opens his eyes again, Holmes is bending down low to bring their mouths together. The kiss is long, slow, lingering, as kisses between them have seldom been; Holmes takes his time, licks delicately at Watson's lip, strokes sensuously along his tongue, and Watson breathes in through his nose and surrenders himself to it, to the pure deep pleasure of it.

When Holmes pulls back, he smiles a little sadly.

"The problem, my dear fellow, is that things will never be finished between us." He rises gracefully to his feet and holds out a hand. Watson can see from the front of his trousers that he's still aroused. Licking his lips, Watson reaches up to lock their palms together.

Once on his feet, he cannot help but take just a little more, just for now; he places two fingers under Holmes' chin and brings their mouths together again for a brief moment.

"Hmmm." Holmes gazes at him speculatively. "What did you come here for?" he asks. "Originally."

"My cheque-book."

"Of course."

Watson pulls his shirt back on, does the buttons, slips his cufflinks into place. Holmes watches him silently.

"If you would be so kind?" Watson says, finally, adjusting his collar and replacing his suspenders, his vest, his jacket.

Holmes walks to his desk and unlocks the drawer with a key from his trouser pocket. He hands over the little leather folder without a word, but when Watson moves to take it, he maintains his grip on the object.

"Perhaps some case will arise soon," he says, slowly. "Some adventure for which I will require your presence."

"Perhaps," Watson allows, and takes the cheque-book when Holmes lets go of it.

"Close the door behind you," Holmes calls, a moment later, but Watson is already on the stairs.


End file.
